Tape Recorder
by Flashing The Floods
Summary: A collection of crappy Peggy femslash oneshots for NotAllThere21.
1. Chapter 1

** Author's Note: Peggy femslash drabbles written for NotAllThere21. I couldn't decide who to pair Peggy up with, and my indecisiveness turned into this. If it isn't your cup of tea, NotAllThere, just lemme know and I'll try again. Should I clarify that none of these take place in order, or anything like that? I think it's kind of obvious they're supposed to be totally separate from each other. **

Her name may have been Iris, but her skin smelled like lilacs. Peggy loved to nuzzle gently into the crook of her neck and inhale the fresh, semi-sweet scent.

"That tickles," Iris laughed one day as Peggy's nose pushed into the smooth flesh of her neck.

"Sorry," the journalist trilled without any real apology in her voice, "I just can't help myself. You smell too lovely to resist."

"You're making me blush," breathed Iris, the smile audible in her voice even though Peggy couldn't see it. She nestled closer and took in another deep breath of lilac. It was an organic aroma, Peggy knew. No lotion, no perfume, and no body spray. Just simply Iris.

Her own smile grew as she she felt Iris's slim fingers brushing through her curly, bistre tresses. "I love you," she mumbled. To anyone else it would have been uncomfortable to let the words leave her lips. But saying them to Iris was the most natural thing in the world.

"I love you too."


	2. Chapter 2

It was cliché.

No, not just cliché.

Kissing in the rain was the _epitome_ of cliché. There was at least one scene in every romantic masterpiece ever done of couples flinging their arms around each other in the pouring rain and passionately kissing under the clouds of gray and over the flash floods. But Peggy didn't care. She loved to feel the droplets splash against her skin and breathe in the air storms always seemed to freshen up. And she also loved to push Capucine out of her comfort zone.

"No," Capucine protested firmly, digging the heels of her ballet flats into welcome mat to keep Peggy from dragging her out the door. "It's freezing out there and I just did my hair."

"It's refreshing," Peggy argued, refusing to let go of her girlfriend's hand. Capucine could combat her all she wanted, but she would take her out into the downpour. And she would kiss her. Her resolve was too strong to be deterred by petty excuses. "You can do your hair again later."

"There's lightning and mud out there. It's scary and it's gross, and no one in their right mind is going to go out in that storm." The honey-haired teen pooched her lip out in defiance. But she likely knew that she'd already lost the battle.

"Then we aren't in our right minds." With that, Peggy flung open the door and dashed out into the storm, pulling Capucine along behind her. Capucine shrieked in shock as the icy showers descended upon her. Chuckling, Peggy mercilessly tugged her through the puddles and the mist.

"I'm going to get you for this later," she shouted over the storm when they finally came to a stop. She sounded as angry as the roaring thunder, but Peggy couldn't find it in herself to be sorry. With the water cascading down Capucine's skin, dripping from her sodden honey locks, and collecting delicately in her lashes and on her upper lip, Peggy wasn't sorry at all. The water accented her girlfriend, who was the only source of color against the charcoal gray sky.

The journalist seized her her shoulders without a second thought, crashing their lips together as lightning streaked across the heavens. Capucine threw her arms around Peggy and kissed her back admits the orchestra of falling rain and rolling thunder.

It was the epitome of cliché, but it would have put any romance flick to shame.


	3. Chapter 3

For weeks Peggy honestly wasn't sure what to think.

Did Rosalya return her feelings or didn't she?

Secret smiles were shared when no one was watching. Glances exchanged behind the walls and under the sounds. Shoulders subtly brushed against each other in the hallways. Notes with smileys or kisses printed in purple ink would find their way onto Peggy's desk. Newspapers clipped into heart shapes would always return them.

But they spoke scarcely and the conversations withheld any confirmation about what it was they had.

It was one thing to establish a connection. It was another entirely to nurture a bond.

One day after school Peggy was in the media room, typing up the school newsletter. Her fingers rapidly clicked against the keys as she ranted on about fracking and found ways to link its relevance. She spruced up the gossip she'd heard floating around, but was careful not to embellish enough to find herself in an unraveling lie. The paper finished and satisfactory enough, she set to printing out the copies. It was lucky (fate, perhaps? the mushy romantic inside of her would muse) that Rosalya chose to barge into the room when she did, or else she might have missed Peggy.

Royal blue pools snapped up the instant the door flung open, wide and startled. "Hey Rosa," Peggy murmured, trying to keep calm, "What brings you here?"

The snow-haired beauty said nothing. Her eyes burned into Peggy's and she strode across the distance that separated them and captured the journalist in a hungry kiss. Peggy forcefully grabbed the silky plum tie tucked into Rosalya's vest, unwilling to risk her getting away as she kissed back.

Things went on like that for awhile. During school days they still spoke in silent volumes and touched each other briefly. But after school they would kiss and chat the day away with their hands clasped tight. Unless Rosalya had a date with Leigh, of course. Leigh was the unspoken boundary that kept the kisses from going further and the dinner dates from becoming more frequent. But Peggy didn't challenge this less than flattering obstacle, and instead held her tongue.

It was unlike her to do such a thing and didn't sit while with her insides, but if sharing Rosa was what the journalist had to do to keep her in her arms, then that's what she would do. Having a hidden relationship and coming second to Leigh was worth the evenings she spent stroking Rosa's hair and trailing her lips over her supple skin. She told herself that anyway. But it was becoming more and more straining to pretend that none of it got at her.

Images of Leigh's arm curling over her girlfriend's waist lingered spitefully in Peggy's thoughts.

And eventually his taste on Rosa's mouth became so thick that the journalist was choking on it.

"Him or me."

Amber eyes grew fraught and round. "Peggy," she whispered with an unusually small voice, "Please don't make me do this."

Peggy clenched her jaw and stood firm.

Rosa's orbs glistened as they wavered, but they were resigned. "Him. I-I'm sorry, Peggy I really am. You have to know that- I do care about you." Tears began rolling down her face and her quivery voice cracked. "But I'm deeply in love with Leigh. I've loved him for two years." She pushed her moist lips to Peggy's freckled cheek and then drew back. Whirling around, she took off quickly with her face in her hands.

Peggy watched the snowy cascade of hair dance like a blizzard behind her fleeting steps, tears of her own beginning to leak.


	4. Chapter 4

Charlotte was a girl of few words.

Peggy was a girl of many.

Charlotte was dispassionate and expressionless more often than she wasn't.

Peggy was always profusely passionate about something and never tried to hide it.

Charlotte could have driven Peggy up a wall with all of her deadpanning.

And yet she didn't. Because Charlotte was what Peggy was currently passionate about. Opposites attract, as they say.

It was even refreshing in a way, because Charlotte didn't blab on and on about pointless things. When she talked, she actually had something to say. And when she complimented Peggy, it meant so much more because she could trust the caramel-haired teen's words to be sincere.

And there was something else about Charlotte that Peggy just couldn't get enough of.

How much she touched. Charlotte conveyed so much through touching, it was basically like another way of talking for her. A particular way she squeezed Peggy's shoulder meant she wanted comfort. Tracing a delicate finger over Peggy's lips meant one thing, but a brush of the hand along the journalist's jawline meant something completely different.

Their touches were an exclusive language only the two of them knew. It was so...Personal.

With all the time spent prying into people's lives and being impersonal, a little more personal was good for Peggy.

"You're thinking too much again," Charlotte breathed, caramel orbs sliding to Peggy.

"Like chocolate diamonds," the journalist murmured offhandedly.

"Comparing my eyes to jewelry is really cheesy," Charlotte chided in a bland monotone. But she took Peggy's hand and loosely intertwined their fingers. It meant she'd appreciated the allusion, cheesy or not.


	5. Chapter 5

Peggy usually got her stories from expertly eavesdropping or searching for information herself. It took a lot of hard work. They didn't just fall into her lap.

They usually didn't anyway.

Once in a blue moon, good luck would befall her and she'd just come across something juicy.

Recently someone had been tormenting Amber and her friends, even Capucine. And tormenting was not an exaggeration. Spray painted lockers were just the beginning. Someone was stealing their notebooks, breaking pencils and pens, leaving false answer sheets in their backpacks, scrawling profanity in their textbooks. Amber was definitely getting the worst of it though. In addition to the other things, someone replaced her hairspray with peroxide, erased all the contacts on her new phone, shredded her gym clothes to tatters, and put worms in her gym shoes.

Whoever behind this was a real sadist, and everyone was dying to know who that secret sadist was. Especially Peggy. She made it her personal goal to find out who was doing this before anybody else, and expose them in the school paper. But the information surrounding the fiend eluded Peggy. Whoever it was, they were very careful and knew how to keep themselves in the clear. At first Peggy, like Amber herself, assumed the perpetrator to be Lynn. She definitely had the motive.

But Lynn vehemently denied any involvement whatsoever, and Peggy became doubtful. Lynn was many things, but not a liar. And the more Peggy really thought about it, the more she realized it couldn't be Lynn. Lynn wasn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box. To put it in the bluntest of terms; she was a total ditz. The culprit was much too intelligent to be Lynn.

After one week of vigilant eavesdropping, coded interviews, keen observations, and spying, Peggy hadn't discovered the offender. And she wasn't even onto a suspect, damn it! This kind of hair-pulling frustration was not good for her. But she wouldn't give up.

The following Monday the journalist was devising possible plans to lure out the crafty tormenter as she walked down the hall. Melody came into view and Peggy offered the delegate a smile. "Hey Melody."

"Hi Peggy."

The shorter-haired brunette was about to go well on her way, when something caught her ever-observant eye. There was a distinctly cylinder shaped bulge pressing against the fabric of Melody's purse. Without so much as another word, she snatched it from her.

"Hey!" Melody shouted, cerulean eyes widened in alarm as she made a mad grab for the bag. But it was too late, Peggy already zipped it open and peeked triumphantly at the can of spray paint inside.

"Oh Melody, I'm surprised at you," she declared in an excited whisper, "You're usually the best behaved person in this school. Imagine what everyone's going to say when they find out you're not such a good girl after all."

"I-It's not what it looks like!" Melody snapped quickly and made a swipe for her purse, but Peggy kept it out of her grasp with an easy swivel-and-lift. "Oh really? Then what is it?" The journalist didn't care what kind of excuse Melody fumbled for, she knew the other girl was guilty. She had guilt written all over her face and uneasiness swimming in her eyes. Especially when Peggy's own sharp blue orbs pinned her to the spot with the accusation.

"Okay fine," Melody relented, "I am the one who's been messing with Amber and her friends. I don't like it, but darn it! They deserve it." She waved her hands wildly, wavy brunette tresses bouncing with her motions. "Amber makes Nathaniel's life a living hell, and they help her! It's just not right. Not to mention all the other people they bully too, like Violette and Lynn."

Peggy nodded, tapping a finger to her chin. "Sure they deserve it, but it doesn't exactly give you the right to sabotage them. I don't think anyone thought you had it in you, Melody. I really, really wonder what Nathaniel is gonna say when he finds out you've been tormenting his little sister in his honor."

Cerulean eyes wavering and teeth snagging at her bottom lip, Melody took a step forward and grabbed Peggy's arm. "Please," she quavered, "Please don't put this in paper. I'm begging you not to, Peggy, please."

With Melody gazing up at her desperately, with her hands clasped onto the journalist's arm, Peggy's mood couldn't help souring. This was too big of a story not to put in the paper! But Melody was so pleading. Pleading not to have her entire reputation ruined. "I'll make a deal with you," Peggy muttered after consideration, "If you go on a date with me this Friday, this can be our little secret."

Melody's face went bright red. "A date? You mean a 'date' date?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"But I don't-" she sputtered, shaking her head. "I mean, you know that I don't...Well okay, it is just one date. Right?"

"Just one." _For now._ "I'll be picking you up at six." Grinning in satisfaction, Peggy returned the purse, planted a delicate kiss to the brunette's pinked cheek and skipped away.


	6. Chapter 10

"I've never done this before," Peggy admitted in a hushed whisper.

She was on her back on the couch, propped up on her elbows and staring at the naked Debrah with hesitant eyes. Though she would never admit it (neither aloud or to herself), the journalist wasn't sure she was ready.

Debrah breathed a laugh, an undefined twinkle in her eyes. "Never at all? Or just never with a girl?"

"At all," The shorter-haired brunette answered quickly and honestly, "My preferences don't extend to boys."

"I should have known." Mirth lacing her sickly sweet words, Debrah climbed over the arm of the couch and straddled the journalist. Peggy felt an oxymoronic shiver run up her back as heat pooled in her stomach.

Debrah leaned down, her unique eyes fluttering closed as her lips met Peggy's earlobe. "We'll take this nice and slow." Her hands promptly snaked to the olive blouse that Peggy had only managed to unbutton halfway. They took it upon themselves to finish the job.


	7. Chapter 6

"Are you mad at me?" Kim glanced to Peggy as they walked down the narrow, dark street.

"Well, yes," Peggy snapped with frustration. She folded arms across her chest and looked sullenly at the shadowy ground in front of her. She was angry at Kim and rightfully so. Kim knew how much going to the prom meant to her, but forgot all about it. It had Peggy so steamed that if this street wasn't so darn creepy, she would've have told the ebony-haired girl off and walked home on her own.

"I guess a sorry isn't going to make it up to you, huh?"

"Of course not!" Peggy shot her an agitated glower. "Imagine how many things I'd have to put in the school paper tomorrow if we would have went!" Missing out on events to write about in the school newspaper did annoy Peggy, but it wasn't the real reason why she was so upset. Kim, her girlfriend of three months, promised to take her to prom and didn't even remember the date! It was like a slap in the face. And stung just as bad as one.

Could the brunette's feelings really mean so little to someone she cared about so much?

"I thought so." All of a sudden, Kim reached out and grabbed the journalist's hand. Peggy let out a low cry of surprise as Kim pulled her under the only lit streetlight on the block. Lime eyes radiant under the artificial glow, she tugged the brunette's hand she held up to her shoulder and placed it there. She pressed one of her own hands against Peggy's waist and then her free fingers sought to lace themselves with the ones of paler flesh.

"Kim, what are you doing?" The journalist's hurt and irritation were forgotten in her bemusement.

"Dancing with you," she replied and began to sway. "I know it's not the same as going to the prom. But this is probably twice as romantic."

Kim thought dancing under a streetlight in the middle of an empty road was romantic? Please, the reek of motor oil tainted the air and the only music they had to dance to was the faint racket of a television further down the block. Romantic was the last word that came to Peggy's mind to describe this.

And yet she found herself moving sensually with Kim, keeping pace as her girlfriend twirled her around. She dipped her head back when Kim held her out and sucked in a breath of the humid night breeze as she was drawn back in.

When their eyes met, Peggy felt the last traces of her ire trickle out of her veins.


	8. Chapter 7

Tenacity was Peggy's middle name. When she wanted something, she would strive until she got it. Be her object of desire information about another person or a bigger recycling bin for the school, she would try like hell until her goal was achieved.

But even Peggy realized that tenacity was not infallible.

Sometimes, even if it hurt, you had to accept that trying wouldn't get you far enough. That sometimes what you wanted the most, you just couldn't have and no amount of determination could change that.

So when her thoughts began straying to Li and her eyes followed the way her clothes fit, the way that they were nice and snug and showed off her pert behind, Peggy gave up. She gave up before she could even start pursuing something, because this was one of those painful sometimes where trying just wouldn't be enough. Li was straight. And not only straight, but likely homophobic to some degree. Not in outspoken or harmful ways, but certainly in hurtful ones. A roll of the eyes when Alexy made comments about attractive boys. A crinkle of the nose when Kim put her arms around Violette. Peggy was sure she was the only one who noticed.

Peggy noticed everything about Li.

From the careful way she applied her lipstick to the confident way she walked, the journalist noticed it all.

She had daydreams about sliding her fingers through Li's medium jet-black locks and fantasies about tugging Li's silky Chinese top over her head. She imagined Li's lips against her own and fancied they tasted of citrus, because that was what she always smelled like. Even if she gave up on the possibility of pursuing Li, there was nothing wrong with her private sentiments and musings over what would never be.

Peggy wasn't restricted to insouciance either. She allowed herself to care about Li in small, unimportant ways that made no difference. Like keeping her name out of the paper when the schemes she no doubt helped Amber with were exploited. Like asking her opinion on what types of vegetables should be on the vegetarian menu she pushed to enact.

She was in the girls bathroom one day, washing her hands while Li dug anxiously through her purse in front of the mirror.

"Damn it," Li groaned, "I can't find my strawberry wine."

Peggy paused and shut off the water, turning to flash Li a smile of assurance. "You really don't need all that lipstick anyway. Or any other makeup for that matter. You're beautiful just the way you are."

Li looked to Peggy, her mouth opened in a small circle of surprise. "Thank you," she breathed softly. Peggy gave a nod of acknowledgement and went on her way.


	9. Chapter 8

Getting past the blonde's alpha bitch front was a difficult task, to say the least.

But Peggy knew what she wanted and what she wanted was Amber, so she did it anyway.

She pushed and pushed until the wavy-haired teen finally let her in. Once her defenses were down, it didn't take Peggy long at all to get close to her. Not to say that Amber wasn't high maintenance. Oh she was, she was indeed. She had her expectations and a criteria that those who got past her outer-shell had to meet, or else face her frigid shoulder. But Peggy also had her standards, and met said expectations with ease.

Most of them, anyway.

She refused to change her clothes. The style Amber found 'sinfully outdated' was Peggy's style, and it wasn't going anywhere. Amber would have to deal with that or face her own cold shoulder. Two could play the silent treatment game. But she found she didn't even have to. When she made it clear she wasn't going to budge, Amber dropped the issue. It seemed their friendship was more valuable than wardrobe after all. Not to say friendship was Peggy's goal. It was not, nor did she find complacency with friendship.

But taking one thing at a time was an art the journalist was familiar with.

Baby steps lead to bigger things.

All it took to really reach her goal was spending time with Amber, and Peggy found that to be one of the easiest things she'd ever done. She was sure it was harder for Amber. But maybe not...

When Amber smiled at her and those aqua pools softened with fondness, it seemed to Peggy that it wasn't hard for Amber to care about her either.

They had their first kiss in the school basement. It was hesitant and brief, but it was something neither of them would forget.

The closer they got, the more Amber would start to share little things with Peggy.

She started off with really small things that other people would probably dismiss as insignificant. That she was allergic to nuts. The different perfumes she liked, but how mango was always her favorite. Where she got her favorite earrings from.

The more Peggy listened, the more she shared.

She divulged bigger things that no one would make the mistake of dismissing. That she never really liked Castiel at all, just told herself she did because that would have been normal. The way that sometimes she genuinely wished more people liked her, but she still wouldn't forsake her overbearing impression. Where Nathaniel got his bruises from.

"But it's only Nath? Your father doesn't hit you too?"

"Oh no, never. I'm his favorite..." Reluctance shaded her face and she gazed down to the floor. "I feel guilty sometimes."

Peggy patted her hand and told her that was alright.

They weren't keeping secrets from anyone. They held hands in the hallways and passed kisses in between classes. If anyone ever had to ask, they never lied or made excuses. There wasn't a single person in the school who had a problem with it, with the possible exception of Capucine. But that was only because she liked Amber first and felt like Peggy took something from her. They weren't keeping secrets from anyone.

Or so Peggy thought.

Amber casually mentioned it to her that after seven months of dating, her parents still didn't know about her relationship with the journalist. That turned into a small argument that happened to be the biggest argument they'd ever had; and ended with the assurance that Amber would tell them, tainted only by the scornful remark that Peggy was making a big deal out of something that 'totally wasn't important at all.'

A day after the argument, Amber missed school.

Peggy didn't think much of it, and the fact that Amber didn't text or call her annoyed her more than it concerned her. She figured that the blonde was still angry with her about her supposed overreaction the day before.

The next day Amber was back at school, wearing a stylish lace-fringed turtleneck that somehow seemed out of place in the late-spring weather. She was quieter and dark circles rimmed her eyes as though she hadn't slept. That's when Peggy felt a prickle of worry. But she didn't want to ask about it, because inquiring about whatever was troubling Amber would mean bringing up what was troubling Amber, and that might ruin the rest of her day.

So Peggy waited until school was over and they were alone to ask. "Is something wrong?"

Amber paused. The thin smile she'd been wearing fell away, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "You know what? I don't think there is. I actually think something's right now. I don't have to feel guilty anymore."

"What do you mean?" Peggy studied her dubiously.

Amber tugged out the collar of her turtleneck to reveal the dark impressions her father's fingers left on her neck. "I'm not his favorite anymore."


	10. Chapter 9

Another slip of paper fluttered out of the locker and drifted delicately to Peggy's open hand.

She plucked it up from her palm and unfolded it, straightening out the creases with the ginger experience she'd gained in doing so. She looked down to it, her own face looking back up with a closed-lip smile and a microphone extended in her grasp. "I look better in oil pastel than I look in real life," murmured the blushing journalist. Gently folding the picture back up, Peggy placed it with the other ones and closed her locker door.

She had been getting drawings of herself in her locker for the past three weeks. Monday through Thursday they were always colored pencil, but for some reason Fridays were different. Her image would be cast on pages in dainty strokes of paint or intricate rubs of charcoal.

Peggy admired each work of art she was given, and held the artist in high regard. Err, she would anyway, if she knew who they were. The lovely portraits were never signed.

The brunette racked her brain again and again but never came up with a concrete suspect. The mystery frustrated her even more than one would think. She knew anything about everything that went on in the school, and yet she didn't know who kept visiting her own locker.

The only person she knew to be an avid artist was Violette, but she couldn't possibly be the one leaving the drawings, could she? Every single drawing had been of Peggy and accurate down to the last detail. Why would the shy girl have such an interest in her? Violette wasn't into girls, as far as Peggy knew. And even if she were, Peggy was Violette's polar opposite. She and Violette may as well be the sun and the moon.

It had to be someone else.

An idea that wasn't exactly brilliant illuminated the metaphorical lightbulb above her head. Peggy opened her locker again and scrawled a short, sweet and to the point message on a sticky note: 'Thanks for all the drawings. I'm flattered! But who are you?'

She stuck the note to the inside of her locker door and closed it again, heading down to her next class.

The following Monday, Peggy's note was posted to the drawing she received. In the picture her hand was raised and a single finger was pressed against her pursed lips, her royal blue eyes looking to the side and at something not shown on the paper. A secret.

Frustrated, but not deterred, she posted another note to the inside of the door: 'Why a secret?'

There was no reply the next day. Or the day after that. The journalist was disappointed, of course, but also felt rejected in some way. Perhaps she shouldn't have prodded her secret admirer? But thankfully on Thursday, there was a reply. Her note was stuck to another picture.

Carefully unfolding the paper with delight vibrating in her fingertips, Peggy breathed a mental sigh of relief and surveyed the penciled scene. Her smaller self walked happily down the sidewalk, blissfully unaware of the one who reached for her. The other person was not actually shown, but a slender arm extended from the part of the page that did not exist and an outstretched hand reached for Peggy's. The hand wore a fingerless ash gray glove that Peggy instantly recognized. Concealing her surprise under a pleasant smile, the brunette began to search the halls.

She found Violette walking to class on the second floor and wordlessly took her hand. She looked up to Peggy with wary bewilderment, cheeks as pink as carnations. Peggy smiled at her in an encouraging, and only the mildest bit uncertain, kind of way.

She'd never been opposed to trying new things.


End file.
